|
Illinburgh
Windswept and wave drenched, ships sail into the safe harbour of Illinburgh. It is the end of the summer, large white clouds scud across the skies; soon it will be the turn of their darker, more ferocious cousins. Autumn, the ships captains say, is a time of stormy seas and brave sailors. Winter is a time of fools and watery graves.
But Illinburgh is a clean town, its people seem happy enough pointing out the large fort perched above, the home of the Marquis Burnd. Everyone is dressed in woollens, woollen skirts in multi-coloured patterns cover the men and women. Most men carry a small dagger in a sock and a club or short sword at the waistbelt. Every now and then the odd warrior or guard wears a full length sword down his back.
It takes a good hour to walk up from the docks to the ‘Burgh as the locals name their Lord’s home. Tight twisting alleys split off from the main streets, as the workaday dock quarter gives way to crafters and professional workers, those of wealth living highest on the hill.
The Burgh has a large stone bridge with an outer and inner gatehouse, but in these enlightened times both stand open with a pair of breast-plated men-at-arms dressed in black and gold quarters. They wear floppy hats much like berets, only woollen grey. These are the Burghers, the Marquis’ household bodyguard.
Entry into the small castle came easy. Everyone was expected. Everyone gets a room with a view of the port and sea beyond. The tough granite walls have stood the test of time and each window has its thick bars of iron to prevent any accidents. After all, the town is a fair way down.
Looking down, there are half dozen ships in port, travellers from the mainland and beyond. They bob about at anchor as the people mill about the docks and quay, a regular hive of activity. Further away the odd marketplace and street stalls have folk like ants all over them.
It is Dougal who looks after everyone. Those that arrive first must wait a few days in the lap of luxury before they can see the Marquis. Then everyone can see him together. Dougal is the best part of seven foot tall, and carries a massive double edged broadsword at all times. He seems to know much but rarely gives anything away; the face is hidden by hair. Those black eyebrows and fierce black beard are a little unkempt but the ink stained fingers show he is more than just a warrior. All the servants move swiftly at his whispered commands. Finally Dougal sends word to everyone that the Marquis will see them. Each person is given time to gather themselves and asked to leave their weapons and armour behind. This does not seem to include a dagger, a “skeinde”, everyone seems to have a sharp pointed dagger. Even the children in the streets seem to play with those.
Then the group are taken in pairs or individually down to the lower floor of the castle – the part that overlooks the town directly but is below the courtyard level. In an antechamber, everyone gathers. Before them stands a large pair of darkwood doors, at least ten foot high. There is a pair of Burghers flanking the doors and then beside them are two busts of bearded men in white marble. These stand in the corners. The floor has a woollen rug of black and gold tartan, the colours of the Burnd family that covers many of the castle walls.
Looking around the group consists of a sturdy dwarf, a pair of young men, a much larger man and a gnome.
One of the young men – Talfen you hear him called as he converses with the gnome (the pair appear to have some acquaintance, and it seems clear that they traveled together to Illenburgh) – is perhaps not quite so young as he appears at first glance. He has boyish good looks – tall and slim, with fair skin, windswept blonde hair and finely arched eyebrows … but faint lines on his brow and darkened patches under his eyes indicate that he has probably seen a few things – he s no fresh-faced teenager. The almond shape of his eyes and the slight point to his ears just visible beneath his hair give the answer – elven blood.
While not reed-thin, neither is the young man of muscular build. He is dressed in not ostentatious but well made clothes – a high collared brown jacket of short cut, a belted off-white tunic above brown breeches tucked into traveling boots.
Although he is apparently in conversation with the gnome, he does not appear to do much talking (and perhaps not that much listening), as he fidgets with some sort of necklace or amulet that he wears and glances about the room, quietly appraising the others gathered here, the décor and the chamber itself.
Lazarus openly studies the others standing in the room with him. The little gnome has dressed in his better clothes for a meeting with the Marquis. The quilted vest and long trews are of good quality and brightly coloured in blues and gold. Certainly they stand out, but are not overly gaudy.
His long hair is worn braided back today, with only a single lock left free to drape down across his face occasionally. He stands next to Talfen, quietly humming a tune popular amongst the people of the isles. Somehting he had overheard the men of the town singing last night in his trip around the local taverns.
He turns his head slightly and whispers to the half elf beside him
For Talfen
Lazarus (and DM):
The gnome can see that the boy is happy enough to look at women (even while pretending not to) and even seems to have some grudging admiration for the antics of his companion, but he rarely talks to them. Oh, he’s polite, and he’ll look a bar wench in the eye as he orders his meal, but he doesn’t flirt, or even exchange pleasantries. He claims that he’s focused on his studies (and indeed spends much of the journey with his head buried in one book or another), but Lazarus might wonder if he’s simply shy, or inexperienced.
“We have to focus on the task at hand,” Talfen says, when pressed to have more fun. “The Marquis Burnd needs our assistance for some grave matter, and it would not do to get ourselves killed by a group of straw-headed thugs over some sill girl. After all,” he rustles the letter that Lazarus delivered to his master, “you’re supposed to protect me on this journey.” He then sits back at his chair and goes back to reading, sipping at his ale … and occasionally snatching wistful glances of the fun being had in the rest of the common room …
Oh, he’s not a total stick-in-the-mud. He’s easy enough to talk to (a good listener at any rate), courteous, and has a subtle sense of humour – when he’s not too busy taking everything so seriously.
Lazarus:
The oldest of the five, and probably the tallest as well, stands in a military rest next to the other young gentleman. At an impressive 6'4" the older man towers over the younger one next to him in a manner almost reminiscent of a mother bear towering next to her cub. Eyes the color of soil peer out from under dark eyebrows on a face worn and weathered by the sun and rain scanning here and there taking in his surroundings as if he were one of the Burghers by the door. Dressed in a tunic and leggings of simple homespun wool the man looks as though he belongs on a farm not here in the halls of nobility. His left hand heavily calloused from hard work periodically grazes his waist area as if expecting something to be there for it to rest upon, and he looks mildly uncomfortable as if something is missing. Whenever his glance falls upon the boy next to him his face softens just ever so slightly in an almost paternal fashion before it returns to it's normal guarded mask.
He glances at the others awaiting an audience with the Marquis and wonders what reason there could be to gather such an eclectic group.
Standing a little away from the others in a corner with his arms crossed was Waynir. He was wearing a nettle green woollen tunic, that had seen better days, brown supple leather breeches and scuffed brown boots. Everyone could see he was short(3'11")and stocky with pure white hair, a hard looking face and red cheeks.
The youngest lad in the group takes in a visibly deep breath and exhales slowly. He stands at military rest, like his companion, but instead of observing and determining potential threats the boy allows himself a moment to enjoy the Burgh.
The familiar sights and smells delight his senses. Though he had never spent much time on the islands it is the most at home he has felt in a long time.
Everything here fit Armand, and Armand fit in with everything here. Though slight in stature (he notices quickly that only the dwarf and the gnome are shorter than himself, and that the other men of the room tower over him), and fighting down a touch of excitement, he is poised. Crisp sea air wafts through his shoulder-length blond hair, and the boy absently tightens the cord holding his hair back at the nape of his neck. The style prominently displays his slightly pointed ears. A dark blue tunic accentuates skin that holds the slightest of tans; an indicator of the past summer months spent riding to the coastline.
Armand turns his face up to smile at Vincent. He can feel the excited gleam in his own silver-blue eyes. Finally, he turns his full attention to the others in the room. The black cloak draped around his shoulders is clasped by a token, depicting a silver weeping willow on a sabal field, marking his nobility.
“So,” the boy’s voice is melodic, one of many traits that harkens to the Elven half of his heritage, “how is it that you all came to know the Marquis?”
Talfen had noticed (and been intrigued by the fact) that the other young man is a half-elf too – or at least has strong elven heritage. But apart from a faint nod of greeting, he has not said anything to him yet, a little wary of his obviously noble attire, and his gruff looking protector.
He speaks up in response now though. “I’ve not met the lord of this castle as yet,” he says, after clearing his throat, “but he and my mentor are old friends. My name is Talfen.”
The boy steps forward, hand raised to clap arms. "Formally, my name is Armand de Seul, of the river valley Lierre." Armand's smile broadens as he shakes his head. "Though I have been told often that the title is taller than I am. Mostly by this old bear." Armand nudges his protector's side and smirks.
Lazarus perks up at the young mans question, and he immediately begins to talk, catching himself only long enough to allow Talfen to finish.
"I met the Marquis a few years ago now, when I returned something precious to him. In deference to the Marquis, however, it is not a tale to be told without his blessing. When he gives it though, I'll happily regale you all with the tale. Tis a grand telling I must say, full of action, honour and has a pretty girl at the end. Everything a good tale needs really."
"How about yourself good sir? Are you and the strapping lad beside you aquainted with the Marquis?"
He stands there, a picture of complete attention on his face as he readies to hear their tale.
Vincent's eyebrow quirks up at the gnome's inquiry as to how they know the marquis. He looks from half-elf to gnome and then to his lord. In a deep gravelly voice that seems more accustomed to shouting orders over the din of battle rather than exchanging pleasantries in the halls of the nobly born he comments
"Strapping young lad? I haven't been referred to as a lad in well on 20 years now and I consider myself far from young and strapping."
|
|
The double doors open and Dougal gazes into the antechamber. In one hand is a three foot long scroll case of mahogany. He waves everyone forwards as he turns away, "follow me, My Lord awaits."
Beyond the doors is a long rectangular room with flagstones that echo with one of Dougal's footfall. The echoes bounce off the thirty foot high stone walls to the sides. But to the front, the wall is made up of many long glass windows and a single glass and wooden gate that opens out onto a balcony. The gate is open and a gentle breeze swirls around the chamber.
There are two ten foot tables running left and right of the entrance. Maps, drawings and a mixture of writings are spread along one. Several candles have been run down to wax pools and their holders weigh down the paperwork. There is one thick functional chair on one side.
The other table has a silver salver with six glasses and a slim decanter. Beside it is a bowl of apples. Further along a foaming jug have six wooden mugs close around it.
Dougal keeps walking, "Wait here. Sit. Eat. Drink."
He continues out onto the balcony and goes to a figure in the corner, overlooking the town.
Lazarus takes the offer of food with genuine enthusiasm. He takes a seat, and offers all around some wine, happy to pour and serve if they wish. As for food, he merely takes a few small pieces of fruit to eat, preferring to savour the taste of the wine without flooding it with heavier flavours of meat and other foods.
He raises a gass to the young mage he brought with him "Well Talfen, twould seem I managed to get you here safely afterall. Twas a difficult thing, what with all the wenching and partying you were involved in". He drops a wink at the half elf and allows a wry smile to show his humour at the ironic statement.
To the big warrior whom he addressed eralier, he replies "Well, youth is more about what's in ones heart as much as what one's face looks like. If you'd prefer, I can address you as old Horse?" the little gnome grins, but then looking at the size of the man whom he was poking fun thought the better of it. "Or perhaps we should just stick to names. Lazarus Quint, traveller and bard, pleased to meet your aquaintance one and all"
He raises his glass in greeting before sipping at the wine.
|
|
Slowly Sir Dougal pushes the large wheelchair back off the balcony, It is covered in a gold and black tartan rug, folded twice. A thin face with hollowed out cheeks and deep-sunk, almost milky, blue eyes looks around the room,taking in the group.
Below the eyes, the nose is spotted and broken, and the thick grey beard hangs below it covering his mouth.
No crown or symbol of power adorn the weak looking old man.
It is noticeable that the rug fully reaches to within an inch of the ground, his feet do not show at all.
The wheelchair comes to a slow stop.
FW
Lazarus is shocked at the appearence of the man before him. Last time he had spoken to the Marquis Burnd, the man had been old but not frail. This was a shell of teh man who had rewarded him so generously for his actions in returning the pearls those few years previously.
Trying to hide his shock, the little bard bows deeply to the Marquis and offers "My Lord, it is good to see you again"
Waynir approaches the table, pours himself a large mug of beer and drinks it in one go. Says, "Ahhhh, I needed that" and tops up the mug again, turns to the party and says "Does no one else drink beer round here". Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sir Dougal pushing the wheelchair into the room, places his beer back on the table turns and bows, saying "My Liege".
|
|
Lazarus Quint
Lazarus is shocked at the appearence of the man before him. Last time he had spoken to the Marquis Burnd, the man had been old but not frail. This was a shell of the man who had rewarded him so generously for his actions in returning the pearls those few years previously.
Trying to hide his shock, the little bard bows deeply to the Marquis and offers "My Lord, it is good to see you again"
Vincent follows the group to the table and pulls a chair out for his young lord seating Armand close to the end near the balcony before seating himself beside him. He glances at the table before settling for a glass of water and an apple. He chuckles at the gnome's fleeting grin
"Old Horse? At least it's closer to the truth than a strapping lad. I might as well be an old horse considering how long I've been roaming about. My name is Vincent well met."
Vincent reaches out to clasp Lazarus' arm before returning to the events at hand.
Upon the Marquis being wheeled to the table, Vincent is quite shocked to see him in such a state the last time he had set eyes upon the noble he had been old yes but not feeble to the point of needing a wheelchair. Vincent glances quickly down at Armand to see how he reacts before turning his attention back to Marquis Burnd.
Armand bites down hard upon his lip, lashing down the urge to cry out to the broken, withered man in front of him. Placing his glass of water down, and rising from his chair he gazes down at the Marquis.
The weight of the wrongs done to this man, who had once been a giant in the eyes of a child, takes Armand’s legs from him. He drops to one knee before the wheelchair, the momentary falter covered by the grace of a fighter , head bowed to hide the tears welling in his eyes. He bites down harder upon his lip, blinking the tears away before they can fall. No words are spoken, Armand is positive any words he did speak would give himself away.
|
|
A thin hand reaches out and brushes Armand's head. He can almost see through the skin and blotches.
"Blood of mine, you had troubles enough," whispers the Marquis, loud enough for all to hear.
He slowly considers each person, Armand, Vincent, Talfen, Lazarus and Waynir, lingering most on the first two.
"Thank you for answering my requests. We should have much to discuss but I do not have much strength so listen to Dougal. He is my right arm in everything." The voice tails off but the eyes flick about as the knight takes over.
Quietly he murmurs something in the ear of Armand, before helping vainly to get him to rise. But everyone can see just how stick thin the arm is.
Armand
Once Armand has moved off the floor, Dougal steps forwards beside the wheelchair.
"There is a serious problem with part of the Marquis' islands. It is the island of Lochaude. That island belongs to the noble lord Fiallad McAude, however the man has been taken ill recently and without his control, his clan have fallen into argument and aggression. Armand, you are to be my Lord's voice on the island and he wishes for you to ensure that the island returns to relative peace. The matter is much more difficult than that, so the Marquis has also brought in the help of these others. Waynir, is a dverge and the master of the Marquis' ship the Cormoran, he is also a knowledgeable and decent dwarf who word can be trusted. Lazarus has helped the Marquis in the past and his honesty and facile tongue may be a great boon when you face the harsh words of the fiery clans. That leaves Aristor's pupil, Talfen. Aristor helped my lord fight and kill a mountain dragon many years ago. He is now a resercher but this apprentice and his magicks could help."
Dougal walks around the table and gets himself a drink of ale, pushing the tray towards the dwarf, in case Waynir had finished his first one already.
Then he waved one arm at the other table, "I can provide you with maps, supplies and Waynir can get you there. After that you are on your own, but you will have the authority of the Marquis. The clans, however, respect strength of arms and guile in battle. Plus there is a cloud of suspision over the accident that injured Earl McAude so you must tread carefully."
He stops and returns to the wheelchair, looking at the Marquis quizzically, before the old man shakes his head.
"Any questions so far?"
Armand rises and stands beside the chair he had sat in moments before. His face is calm, no trace of the emotional outburst just seen linger. He watches Dougal, takes note of the maps, and of the skills of the people around him.
Armand had never led an expedition first hand.
Here was the beginning. Perhaps Vincent had been wrong about how bad of an idea coming here was. But when Dougal mentions the suspisions regarding the Earle's illness a sinking feeling settles in to the bottom of Armand's stomach. Assassins had killed the Marquis' wife, and if the events were connected and someone truly was trying to bring down the Marquis it could not stand.
"What will I have to show the people I am your voice?"
|
|
Dougal prepares to answer with a nod but the Marquis reaches out from the blanket and stops him with a touch.
"Your grandfather never minced words. Either. That we shall answer privately. But nevertheless I shall give you all the support I can, short of travelling myself. You must trust in yourself and - cough, cough, cough."
"Anything else," interrupts Dougal while the Marquis wipes his beard with a red hankerchief.
Lazarus had been shocked to silence for a second time in less than ten minutes, something that rarely happened once a year.
"Fiallad has been hurt? Is it bad? How did it happen? I spent a long time trying to keep that man alive and he goes and gets himself hurt while I'm away!"
The little gnome is obviously a little shaken by the two events of the day. The see the Marquis so obviously frail and close to death, and then to hear of his friend's injuries had the bard seriously troubled.
"I shall travel there at once My Lord, to help the Earl once gain".
His passion was clearly evident in his trained voice, and he would have turned and left then and there except as he did he caught sight of the Half Elf mageling he had escorted to the Marquis castle and it brought him back to the presnet. Sometimes even he was surprised at his impetuousness. Maybe Talfen was right and he should show restraint at times. What a depressing thought.
Talfen bows low as Dougal pushes the Marquis’ chair forward, but stays near the back, and silent, obscurely embarrassed to observe the man in such a state.
He nods but flushes when Dougal introduces him. I am little more than an apprentice! Yet he compares my magic to that that slays dragons. Oh, these people are going to be so very disappointed in my cantrips…
Talfen has a question of his own although he listens carefully for the answer to Lazarus’ first. His own question, when the time comes; “What of the clan? Are there any clear leaders amongst them, legitimate or otherwise, whom we will need to reckon with? Either as ally or enemy - Or is that for us to discover?”
|
|
Dougal raises his hand to Larazus. "The Earl was taking part in a hunt in the woods when a stray arrow took him hard. It didn't enter his head but somehow he went mad and feeble, like a baby. What is worse is that the arrow was a wood elf arrow and the hunt was on wood elf lands under the protection of their druid."
Then the knight turns to Talfen, "too many clans and factions for my liking but the Earl kept them together for us. They respected him."
"Just yesterday a bonecrafter sailed in from Lochaude and said that one of the clan chiefs, Erit Clawed McGranar, has set himself up as a temporary regent or some such until the matter of the Earl is sorted. There will be war if this isn't stopped quickly."
"There are magics and curses that can do that to a man," says Talfen, when told of the Earl's condition. He shakes his head. "But if it is that, I have not the power to undo such a curse..." He feels a little foolish for bringing up something that was probably obvious.
Lazarus' seems crestfallen at teh news of the Earls injuries. He was a vibrant man who risked a great deal when the two had last ventured together. Again the violence of the world reached out to twist the little gnomes heart. He would not let this stand though.
At Dougal's words he chirps in again, "well then, perhaps we'd best get down to the business at hand. The sooner we get this information and head to the isle, the sooner we can head off this war. We already have one of those on the mainland, no need to start another out here where the world is more pleasent"
He moves to the table with the maps, refilling his glass before he goes and eating some more food. "Can you tell me more about the factions we'll be faacing. We have a self proclaimed regent, what else are we facing? Do you have any agents or men you can trust amongst it all that we may be able to seek out if things go ...interesting?"
|
|
Much happier at the table, Dougal stands over the maps and pulls forwards a colourful map of an island with many rivers, pine woods and a loch (lake) in the centre.
Dougal points to the east, to a mound surrounded by woods, "Peroclas the druid and his elves were responsible for the hunt. He may know much."
Then he points to a port village, Lochaude, "Manart the merchant keeps his nose to the ground, so to speak, put he may want gold, for his help."
"And Egranne, Fiallad's wife, is a good woman."
As the tall warrior flicks his finger over the map he smiles and turns a look at Talfen, "what about the Black Wizard's Tower? It's a ruin but there may be useful alchemies there for your curse or its removing. By the way, we shall provide your with what equipment we can once you have settled in, Talfen. Just tell waynir and he can fetch it from Illinburgh."
...
Behind the party, raised voices are briefly heard from the antechamber. Although they are muffled the anger is evident in the shouts.
"-no one stops me from seeing my father!" shouts a young man as the doors burst open, despite the vain attempts of the two burghers. With the red faced twenty year old are two other knights, they are holding back the guards. All three are wearing green and red tabards, in a large check pattern.
Talfen stands back, waiting to see how this latest development plays out, or if any of his companions react to it. He unconsciously fingers the stone at his neck.
Why would the father not wish to see the son? he wonders. Perhaps he does not want him to see how bad his condition is?
Lazarus nods at each point that Dougal makes, carefully comitting each of those names to memory for future refernce on the isles.
He is about to ask more details when the interruption at the door makes him turn. He stands quietly, wathcing while the tableau takes place, carefully observing teh interactions and faces of both Dougal and Marquis Burnd when the young man bursts in, wondering if they'll betray anything of what is occuring with their body language.
Vincent had listened intently to the briefing and was considering how best to keep Armand safe whilst gallivanting about the troubled island when the door burst open. Leaping quickly to his feet Vincent interposes himself between Armand and the mewling lad storming towards the lord Burnd making sure to keep his body betwixt the two.
Waynir looks up from the table, seeing the young faced knight burst through the doors. He immediately puts himself between the Marquis and the young knight. Holding out his left hand shouts' "Stop, Who are you?, What are you doing here?"
"Everyone, please. If it was blood anyone wanted it would have already been spilt. Let us take a moment to compose ourselves."
Armand turns and smiles to the new comer, raising two glasses of wine. "We were merely having a drink and getting acquainted. Come sit and raise a glass with us." He strides over, making certain to not be too far from Vincent, nor in the way of the impatient man.
|
|
As Lazarus and Talfen watch the others step forward, Dougal murmurs "Oh no", beside them. No one else hears but Lazarus can see the resigned look he quickly hides.
The Marquis' face gives away nothing, but then it isn't the most animated anyway, he does shake his head at the guards and wave a vague hand. They look relieved and slightly overwhelmed by their previous predicament, neither wanted to fight and both close the doors with a grateful nod.
One of the knights moves to the table and starts pouring himself some wine. He is tall, slim and graceful as hell. Much like the black goatee beard he has so carefully grown. He sits on the edge of the table and drinks.
The other, much older and more grizzled knight flanks his younger charge, facing Vincent. He has an obviously broken nose and a tonsure much as a Hospitaler would.
The young man looks down at Waynir, "What no crows feet? I am disappointed. Is this the captain of your new dragon ship? Well, I am Earl Stroma Lunris of Lunloch Isle and these two noble knights are Sir Gole Satindial and Sir Jockir Wolfram."
As Armand speaks up, the slightly older man quickly gives him the once over and eventually nods, he takes a seat at the map table and quickly turns it round. "You are not sending them to Lochaude are you? Father? What about me? I should be the one as your successor?"
The Marquis speaks up for this first time his voice is clear and strong, "this was a private meeting and you were not invited. That is Armand, soon to be knighted and given authority to deal with the McAude's. These are his servants and guards. And you not yet my succ- cough, cough, cough,
The Earl shakes the Marquis' words away, "so who are they?"
Watching the Marquis's withered form shake and spasm from the coughing fit makes Armand's heart hurt. He quickly turns from the new comer and his compatriots, back to the table with his people. It was a strange thought, his people.
Armand hands the spare goblet of wine to Talfen, whispering in elven "you shall need this afore too long," and pours a tankard of cool water for the Marquis.
"My Lord." Armand kneels beside the old man and hands him the tankard.
I wonder if he realizes he sounds like a petulant child... Armand thinks as he tries to quell his irritation. "My name," Armand rises and endeavours to remember everything Vincent had ever taught him about commanding a room, "is Armand de Seul, of the river valley Lierre; though our families are close I do not know you, good sir. But I believe introductions are for a different time, seeing as good Dougal was in the middle of an explanation of our situation when you so hastily interrupted."
Talfen takes the goblet with a nod, though he’s not sure what Armand means by it – does he mean to make a toast? Have Talfen use it as a spell component?
The young man does not yet introduce himself, still seeming unsure of the situation and glad that Armand is taking charge – but then, that is a duty of his station.
|
|
As Armand speaks, the Earl Lunris turns back to Dougal, "De Seul? He related to us, yes, my father is about to knight him. What is going on here...?"
Then the knight sat quietly drinking joins in, with a soft voice, "my Lord, I think it is obvious that the Marquis means to elevate this child above you and give him the Isles. Perhaps it is because of your...upbringing." He has another drink and moves around to sit behind the table out of the way.
As Sir Gole's words hit home, the young man's face mottles and mottles again getting redder and redder as blood fills his face. He is almost incoherent, "Fa- fa- father! Is this true?"
But the Marquis cannot speak, he is coughing all the harder, both hands grip the chair as he fights for a breath and the chance to speak. Moments pass and then one hand points at Dougal and the warrior starts to pull out something from his belt then leaps to pour it down the Marquis' throat. "It is not enough! The medicine is nearly gone, I must go for more. Watch him."
Dougal dashes out the room bursting the doors open as if to break them off the hinges, almost knocking both guards to the ground.
Lazarus
Lazarus steps forward as the room begins to dissolve into chaos. Into this maelstrom of noise and movement, his trained voice cuts through like a knife.
"Enough! What is needed is calm, and the chance for the Marquis to explain his actions to his son. There is nothing to be gained by throwing accusations arround. Let the man speak, or are we to presume to know the mind of the Marquis before he himself has spoken" This last is asked to the knight who spoke so quietly yet with great effect.
As he speaks, he moves to Marquis wheelchair and rests a comforting hand upon his back. At the last he speaks quietly "My lord, I have some touch of the healing magic, would it help for me to channel this to you?" The question is pitched low, so hopefully only the Marquis can hear it.
Talfen moves in beside Lazerus, wishing that he could assist the Marquis – but it is a priest’s magic that the man needs, not a mages.
“I have a healing potion,” the young wizard whispers to Lazerus. “Do you think it would help him?”
Vincent eyes the new comers warily making sure to remain near young Armand. The feeling of being vulnerable without his gear seems to be growing by the minute. As Dougal rushes from the room Vincent moves closer to the Marquis to join Lazarus and Talfen.
"Easy lads let's try and figure out if it'll do any good to toss around magic, as the way things are going we all may need it soon enough."
After assessing whether or not his meager skills at healing will be of use Vincent turns to the Earl and his men. Vincent begins to study them judging their hearts instead of their words.
Armand acquiesces to the little gnome’s suggestion. Continuing to accuse would only drum up more strife, which would stress the Marquis. If the Marquis did intend upon making Armand the heir to his territory it would cause more issues than anything else.
Armand keeps his back to the Marquis, preferring to face out to the Earl and his compatriots. The atmosphere of the room was utterly changed by their presence. Before things had been at ease. Not good by any stretch, with the unfolding upheaval and the illness that was striking all around the Marquis. Now, things were escalating.
“Can you do anything for him Vincent?” Armand whispers. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the warm glow emanate from his friend’s hands.
|
|
At the gnome's calming words, Earl Lunris seems to lose the worst of his rage and his eyes regain some of their focus. He stares at the Marquis' choking and coughing at the same time.
"He needs his medicine. He's old. Dougal will nurse maid him." The earl steps closer to Armand close enough to make sure his clean breath can be felt on the younger man.
"If you think I will give up these Isles without a fight, you are wrong. These are mine. Leave now or you will regret it."
Armand
Vincent
With the Earl's rage dissipating, the Marquis' coughing and attempts at breathing are soon the only noises in the chamber. Distant footsteps can be heard coming down the steps.
The knight finishes his drink and stands, whispering in the Earl's ear. The Earl nods and starts leaving.
He points at Armand, "until we meet again, Sir Armand."
Once the Earl has left, Talfen looks about at the others. “What was that about?” he asks. “Do you think that we will have more obstacles on Louchade Island than just the clans?”
|
|
Vincent
"I am a quiver with anticipation, Your Lordship." The bow is graceful and quick, but his head never dips, and his eyes never leave the Earl's. "Until then."
Once the three men have left the chamber Armand takes a moment to compose himself. "I fear we will have many more things on these isles to deal with, other than the clans. Especially if the circumstances revolving around the Earl McAude are as suspcicious as they appear."
If they ever find out I will be undone. The boy leans his back against Vincent's, turning away from the group for the first time and let's out a long breath. "So, how did I do?"
Lazarus turns with a broad smile to Armand and bows gracefully. As he rises again he replies to the young lords question "You did superbly my Lord. Any provocation was purely theirs, and you handled the situation with grace and aplomb"
He continues to offer the Marquis comfort, bringing him a glass of water to try and help with his throat, though he fears it will not be enough. As he does so, he mulls over what was said in that briefest of ecounters. It would seem the Marquis' son had been surrounded by vipers who poisoned his ear, and certainly had too much sway over the man. And what was meant by the "way the Earl was raised?". It had set off the man into anappopleptc rage.
He would have toe wait until Dougal returned with the medicine to ask his questions.
Waynir returns to the map table and continues to drink his beer, looking over at the Marquis every two or three minutes to check he was not getting any worse, but ready to come to his aid if needed. Waynir was a quiet man and did not say much, but could be depended upon if the situation arose.
|
|
In rushes Dougal clutching a shiny silver jug to his chest. He fills a goblet and starts to help the Marquis drink some down.
Soon the coughing stops and the swallowing continues. Marquis Burnd's eyes also stop watering and clear. His beard straggles with spittle which Dougal quickly wipes. With an unsteady hand, the old man keeps the goblet of clear liquid.
"That was my son. Dougal continue."
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and allow his chest to calm, the knight puts the jug down near his lord. "My lord, I can take over this matter if you wish?"
A shake of the head, is the simple answer from the Marquis. Dougal picks up the map of Lochaude ready to talk on.